


It Can't Rain All the Time

by Sabishiioni



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Blasphemy, Blood, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Graphic Violence, Insanity, Multi, Poison, Rape, The Crow - Freeform, Threesome - M/M/M, Torture, Vengance, Very dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabishiioni/pseuds/Sabishiioni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A musketeer is chosen to be the Crow's instrument of Justice</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers  
> Warnings: Read them (Even the ones in bold, please) Especially the ones in bold.  
> Follow Me (My Personal Blog): [Tumblr](http://sabishiioni.tumblr.com/)  
> Follow PI (My Writing Blog): [Tumblr](http://projectinsanitywriting.tumblr.com/)  
> Mindless Babble: This is the result of me being left alone in a car for the hour and a half it takes for a round trip for work.

Ebony wings cut through the heavy air as a newly forged blade would cut through straw. Rain dripped from incandescent feathers as clawed feet wrapped around the plain cross, black talons splintering the brittle wood. Eyes of obsidian shifted, the bird taking insight the three fresh graves. It screamed, delivering its message.

_time to wake, Aramis_

At first, there was nothing. The crow cawed again, growing impatient. It ruffled its feathers, raindrops spraying from its body. There were things that needed to be done, things that were wrong and needed to be made right. 

_what are you playing at Aramis? get up! we have work to do…_

A muffled crack preceded the soft earth shifted. A gloved hand broke through the ground quickly followed by the rest of a lanky body. The lean form trembled as it tried to remember how to function, the man falling to his side. Memories, too many to sort, flooded his mind…

_a musket flash_

_a sharp sound_

_blood…blood everywhere_

_screaming…pain…fear…_

An agonized cry pierced the night accompanied by the cawing of a crow. 

***  
Standing in the wreckage of the home he once shared with his three lovers, Aramis struggled to reign in his emotions. This place reflected the broken feelings which festered inside him. Barely anything had been left in one piece, as if those who destroyed the items that made it a home wanted to wipe the memory of the four men who once resided here off the face of the Earth.

He knelt by the dining room table, reaching for a metal stein he recognize as the one d’Artagnan bought for Athos’ birthday earlier in the year. Memories pushed past his barriers and into his minds eyes the moment he touched the now dented cup.

_“Happy birthday, Athos!”_

_The man looked surprised as d’Artagnan presented him with the wrapped package. “How did you…?”_

_“I asked the captain,” the cheeky reply came. “Open it!”_

_An almost smile appeared of the stoic man’s lips as he unwrapped the stein. ”It’s beautiful, d’Artagnan! Thank you!”_

_Without thinking, he pulled the young Gascon into a kiss. There was a moment of shock, with Athos abruptly pulling back, realizing his mistake too late. Athos had been intimate with both Porthos and Aramis, but the three thought that with the way the younger man went after Constance, he wouldn’t be interested in them. The look on d’Artagnan’s face was one of surprise and something else…_

_“I’m sorry…I…” Athos was cut off as the other man eagerly darted in for another kiss, a proper one…_

Aramis dropped the cup stumbling backwards. That had been the night the four of them came together to become one. It had been a joyous occasion that bonded them forever more. 

Choking out a sob, he stumbled into the bedroom. The destruction continued in here. Sheets were torn asunder and soft white feathers gave the illusion of snow covering the floor. Shredded clothing was scattered throughout the room, only a few items surviving. Aramis picked up a belt, one he knew belonged to Porthos…

_“Why would you buy such a thing?”_

_The larger man grinned at Aramis, still shining the gold front of the obnoxious gilded belt. “For the prestige!”_

_“You know you will never be able to compare with Athos…”_

_“Yeah, I know…”Porthos still smiled. “But I can try!”_

Aramis let the belt fall to the floor, heading for the remainder of the large bed the four of them had shared, even on that fateful night. He brushed the broken remnants of the furniture, a smile almost alighting on his lips at the warm feelings that flooded through his cold body at the touch. The memories…

_“I love you, Aramis…”_

He turned away, hearing the call of his feathered companion. The large bird landed on the smashed wardrobe and, stripping out of his wet and muddy clothing, Aramis approached it. Opening the one working door, he found a few more pieces of clothing that survived the decimation of their home. He slipped on the black leather breeches and the matching doublet. He found his dark riding boots, pulling them on. Finally, he took the small wooden box from the bottom of the wardrobe. The last time it had been used was for a costume ball where even the musketeers needed to disguise themselves to guard the king.

He dropped in front of the cold fireplace, setting the box down. He carefully opened it, taking from it a white powder and a stick of kohl. The white- it was a reflection of the innocent love lost in a single night of brutality. With the black, he drew the tears he cried while his loved ones were tortured and killed in front of his eyes and the smile that he would wear as he took his vengeance.

He stood, eyes searching. The locked chest that sat at the foot of the bed remained untouched. Smiling, Aramis went to the headboard of the bed and withdrew the hidden key. He quickly unlocked the chest, opening it. He paused as a wave of sorrow crashed through his body. Reaching in, he tenderly withdrew the blades of Athos and d’Artagnan, fastening both to his belt. Going back to the trunk, he reached for Porthos’ pistol as well as his own. His fingers brushed the metal of his own weapon and a scream sounded inside his head, the voice so very familiar…

_“I love Aramis! I love him with my dying breath! I love Aramis I love Ari-“_

_The shot which ended the woman’s life echoed into the forest…_

Aramis gasped as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. All this time, he thought she was safe and happy. The tears dried as he added yet another name to the list of lives ruined by one man.

That man would be the last to die.

***  
Captain Pittard sat in the darkened corner nursing the drink in front of him. The burials had been today, just a day after they were killed, murdered by him and his handpicked men. No one but the only man he answered to knew what they had done, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was someone else who knew. He felt like he was being hunted.

There was a commotion at the door, someone with a musket. A shot rang out and the patrons of the tavern cleared out. He stood, going for his own weapon with the intent of arresting the shooter. His evil deed notwithstanding, he was an officer of the law.

“Captain Pittard, tell me can you see it too?”

At that moment, all he could see was the barrel of the pistol mere inches from his face. “S…see what?”

“Why, Hell of course!” The hat the shooter wore dropped to the floor, revealing a face the captain thought he would never see again. A black painted grin widened. “We two are not quite there yet, but I’m sure you can see it as plainly as I.”

“A…Aramis? But…it can’t be you…” Grey eyes dilated as sheer terror flooded his body. “You’re dead!”

“And I suppose I should thank you for that.” Aramis used his weapon to force the Red Guard back into his chair as he sat cross-legged on the table. “You remember my name. Tell me, do you also remember the name of the man you killed? The man you had kneeling before you as you took your weapon, pressed it to his forehead and squeezed the trigger?”

“Athos…”

A slight tremor wracked the dead man’s body at the name. “Good. It is in his name that I come to you. Rejoice! You shall be the warning to all who crossed us that fateful night! Death comes for them all!”

“What I did to your lover, I did out of mercy!” Pittard cried out in an attempt to have his life spared.

Aramis tilted his head. “Yes…that is truth that spills from your lips, for I saw what happened to brave Porthos and sweet d’Artagnan. For you, then, I will give mercy. Drink up and celebrate the life that is yours!”

A shaking hand took his wine glass as it was handed to him and he lifted it in a salute to the creature in front of him. He drained the glass, watching for any change in expression in the painted face. There was nothing, no flicker of even the slightest emotion. It was as if the former musketeer was nothing but a statue carved from marble.

It was only as he set the goblet down, the captain realized his mistake. His glass was still where he dropped it at Aramis’ entrance, the red liquid dripping from the table. Looking into the dead eyes of the man before him, he felt his throat closing. Choking, Pittard tried to make it to his feet, but the strength of his body was fleeing. He fell to the floor, his head coming to rest in the puddle of his red wine.

A bird made from the shadows of the underworld filled his vision as the Reaper collected his soul from the grinning form of Death.

***  
Constance Bonacieux hurried through the deserted streets, her bright green eyes darting to every shadow. She cursed her stupidity, staying so late at her godfather’s home and then insisting that she would be fine going home alone. In truth, she was afraid of what her husband would do if she didn’t return home. After his threat that caused her breaking from the man she truly loved, she did her best to keep the musketeers from her. She thought they would be safe, but that turned out to be yet another lie that had become her life. 

She paused under a lamp to tug her rain soaked hood higher and reign in her emotions. The thought of her musketeers, the four men who always treated her as an equal, nearly broke her fragile grasp on the shattered pieces of her heart. Constance, the only person other than their captain who knew the secret of their lives, had wept bitterly upon hearing their fates. She consoled herself with the fact that they were now safely beyond the reach of the cardinal and could now maybe be at peace.

Green eyes lifted at the sudden movement on her right just a moment too late. When she tried to scream, a hand covered her mouth and her small body was slammed against a wall. Her struggles doubled as she felt hands lifting her skirts.

“What’s wrong, Sweetheart? Too good for the likes of us?”

Constance tried to recoil as the man’s rancid breath reached her nose, reeking of sour wine and decay. He grinned at her, revealing missing teeth and blackened gums. His hands, calloused like that of a sailor, pressed harder against her mouth as his companions started to remove her undergarments.

“Gentlemen! I do not think the lady wishes to remain in your company.”

The man holding her spun around to face the intruder, immediately recoiling in fear. He moved to the side, revealing the justification of his fear. Both of her attackers drew daggers from their belts, but Constance was sure they would do little against the creature before them.

Tall, dressed in black, the man like creature stalked towards them, a long dark cloak fluttering behind him. Dark, wavy hair moved as he approached them. A huge obsidian bird perched on his shoulder, pressing its head against the painted face.

“What…what are you?” one of the men managed, backing against the wall.

The creature tilted his head, looking at the frightened redhead between the two men. “Has it been so long, Madam Bonacieux, that you have already forgotten me?”

Her eyes widened in shock. “A…Aramis? Is it really you?”

He smiled the infuriating smirk which was so completely Aramis that Constance found herself running to him. The crow flew from its perch as she wrapped her arms around the lean frame. She sighed softly as an arm wrapped around her, giving her comfort. The other hand drew a blade.

It was over so quickly, Constance didn’t even realize what happened until a dark cloak was being wrapped around her and she was being led away. Glancing back, she saw her attackers, each in a pool of their own blood mixing with dirty rain water. She turned away, burying her head into Aramis’ side and for a while, she knew nothing but the safety of the man holding her.

When next she looked about, she found herself in the spare bedroom of her husband’s home, the room d’Artagnan once stayed in. Aramis was guiding her to sit on the bed. Once she was seated, he knelt and began to gently remove her shoes.

“Aramis…how are you here? I was at your funeral…”

“The Crow…he brought me back so that I might avenge our deaths.” He started on the other shoe. He looked up at her, a sad expression visible under the paint. “You are not afraid of me?”

“Have I ever been?”

Aramis chuckled as he set the shoes to the side. “No, never. In fact, I don’t believe I have ever seen you truly frightened.”

“That is because I usually am too busy being angry.” She smiled at him, brushing his cheek lightly as he knelt in front of her.

“Hmm…that’s different. Usually you’re slapping me.”

“Would you prefer if I did?” Constance teased, as the man stood.

Aramis laughed softly as he ever so carefully lifted her legs to the bed, shaking his head. “No…your touch reminds me of d’Artagnan- warm and gentle.”

Constance looked down at her hands. ”I never stopped loving him. My husband-” 

A gloved finger lightly touched her lips. “It’s alright, Constance. He knew. Maybe not in his head, but in his heart.”

“I am glad he found what he needed with the three of you.” She gave him a tired grin.

“He would be disappointed that all of his training was for naught,” Aramis replied, obviously trying to not think of his youngest lover. He unclipped a sword from his belt, laying it in her lap. “I think he would want you to have this.”

She lightly brushed the familiar leather with her fingertip, tears once again threatening to flood her eyes. “As much as I would love to accept this gift, I cannot.”

Aramis tiled his head, confused. “Why not?”

“Because it is not yours to give.” Constance looked up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “D’Artagnan is still alive.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Musketeers  
> Warnings: Read them (Even the ones in bold, please) (Especially the ones in bold, please.)  
> Follow Me (My Personal Blog): [Tumblr](http://sabishiioni.tumblr.com/)  
> Follow PI (My Writing Blog): [Tumblr](http://projectinsanitywriting.tumblr.com/)  
> Mindless Babble:

He crouched in the window, fearing to let his booted feet touch the floor. If he did, this could end- this dream, this nightmare. Then where would he be? His gentle lover lay on a bed not three feet from him, yet he could not move from his second story perch.

“The doctors don’t understand how he still lives.”

Aramis flinched as the once familiar voice emerged from the shadows provided by the lamp on the bedside table. A man soon followed the voice, a man who, in that moment, seemed both familiar and foreign. M. de Treville had aged at least ten years since the last time Aramis had seen him, only three days ago. His face was haggard and dark crescent moons hung under eyes that had seen too much. His once proud shoulders were now bent under the weight of sorrow and responsibility.

“I believe he’s waiting for you.”

At that, Aramis finally stepped from the sill and made his way to the bed. The shell of the man he once loved as much as life itself lay covered to his chest by a thick blanket. White cloth wrapped around his head, covering the man’s eyes.

“They blinded him- plucked one eye, destroyed the other. And they…” Treville stumbled over what he needed to say; unable to truly comprehend the cruelty and brutality man was capable of. “They raped him…with their daggers- both the handle and the blade…”

Aramis gasped, looking at his former captain in horror. “I…I didn’t know… They…they were cutting his shirt away when the Crow came, telling me not to look…”

Treville tilted his head, glancing at the window where the small shadow waited for its’ agent of death. He nodded his head, as if talking to a dead musketeer, brought back to life by the Crow, was something normal and expected. Of course there were the stories, told by old soldiers to frighten the new ones, but they never seemed real. Until now.

“Good advice. I have never seen such an atrocity as the one I bore witness to at your home. The blood…your bodies… To find d’Artagnan alive was a miracle granted by the grace of God.”

“No!” Aramis snapped, his eyes returning to his lover. “No god would allow this to happen. Not to d’Artagnan, nor to Porthos or Athos!”

“Or to you?”

Aramis sighed, reaching out to take the young mans hand. He abruptly fell to his knees as images and feelings flooded through him. The pain! It was as if his insides were being torn apart, even as he wept tears of blood from eyeless sockets. Yet, the worse pain came from his chest, the place his heart had once resided. The three men he loved more than anything left to him in this life lay dead, viciously tortured to death in front of him. His mind’s eye beheld his last sight before his eyes were taken from him-his tender lover, his neck slit open, lying in a puddle of blood.

_“Aramis…”_

He broke contact with the younger man, gasping for breath. “They…They tortured him! For hours! He shouldn’t be…”

Treville reached for the man he thought of as a son when Aramis broke off with a sob. For as much as it had hurt to find his three favorite children murdered, it tore at his heart to see such a gentle soul so broken, being held together only by the ancient spirit of the Crow. Yet, as soon as his fingers brushed the dark clad shoulder, he knew this was exactly the wrong thing to do.

The bodies…this was worse than Savoy. At least there, the dead hadn’t been desecrated. Blood was everywhere- the floors, walls and even the ceiling splattered with it and some areas with pink flesh that had one been Athos’ brain. His stomach rolled at the sight combined with the stench of death. 

_“Captain! This one is still alive!”_

Aramis recoiled from the touch with a soft cry. Wrapping his arms around himself, his body shuddered as he struggled to regain his equilibrium. Treville stumbled backwards, fearing what the man had seen; what he felt.

“You…you were the one to find…us…to find him…” Deep brown eyes tinted red lifted to meet the captain’s. “You’ve stayed with him…”

“I left only to go to the funeral.” The captain turned to gaze at the immobile musketeer on the bed. “I didn’t want him to be alone when…”

“When his time comes to join us in the Danse Macabre…” Aramis sighed as he struggled to his feet, flinching as Treville held out a hand.

“You and Constance…Neither of you fear me or question my existence.”

The older man lifted a shoulder. “I believe that God has some wisdom.”

“God has forsaken us all,” Aramis scoffed, turning towards the bed. “Our rings, Captain- where are they?”

Treville swallowed, knowing exactly what the musketeer spoke of- a set of four rings, one for each of them. “I don’t know. I looked for them so that they might be buried with you, but they were gone. I fear they were stolen for money.”

Aramis bowed his head. “Or taken by the Red Guard to the cardinal as proof of our deaths, perhaps?”

Treville gripped his sword in fury but let the moment pass. “I heard a story…Captain Pittard was killed by a demon in a tavern earlier tonight. Should I expect similar reports?”

The creature that stood by the bed turned and the elder man knew he was no longer talking to his kind hearted soldier. In his place stood the Avenging Angel, the Broker of Death. He smiled and Treville felt a shudder of fear course through him. 

“Look towards the morning sun and the ringing of the church bells! Listen for the people to wail ‘He is dead!’ and know then that this will be over!”

He stepped to the window and with one last glance towards the bed, he vanished into the rain drenched night.

***

He sat cross legged on the sheet spread across the floor. The room, which had once been the small dining room, had been swept clean of all the debris left by the intruders, leaving it bare save for the many candles and lamps that cast a soft glow on the man. Lying on the sheet were three roses, each next to a filled wine goblet.

Aramis, void of his mask, held his glass, staring into the blood colored liquid. “I miss you, my loves. Another year has passed now since we three first fell into bed together, before our young Gascon barreled into our lives. Do you remember, Porthos? It was just after that ambush on the road back to Paris. I had been shot in the leg and you in the arm. You came to see if I needed anything… Do you remember what I said?”

_“You…” Aramis gasped as his eyes widened in fear. “I…I mean…I need you to…to…”_

_Porthos smiled and tentatively leaned in to silence the man with his lips. When he tried to pull back, he found long, slender fingers running through his curled hair, pulling him back for something much less chaste. Aramis moaned in delighted relief. There had been suspicions, but fear always kept him from finding out the truth._

_It wasn’t long before both found their clothes too restricting. They helped each other out of them, mindful of the other’s injuries. Aramis found that being bared before his best friend like this felt more erotic than anything he could remember. It didn’t help that Porthos seemed to be feeling the same way._

_The larger man straddled Aramis, leaning down to whisper into his ear. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this…”_

_“Maybe as long as I have…?” Aramis smirked as he nipped the gold ring in the man’s left ear, eliciting a deep moan of pleasure from the other._

_Porthos chuckled softly as he nibbled along the man’s slender neck. “There is only one thing that could make this perfect…”_

_“You mean besides being…oh!...injured?”_

_The larger man nipped the soft flesh over the pulse point. “Yeah…besides that.”_

_“Athos?” Aramis hazard a guess and felt more than heard Porthos’ assent on his neck._

_“You called?”_

_Aramis felt the body on top of him go rigid in fear before abruptly relaxing. He saw the man in question sitting on the edge of the bed dressed only in his breeches, one hand moving over the scarred, dark skinned back in gentle circles. He couldn’t help the incredulous stare._

_“I came to ask if you had seen Porthos.” Blue eye sparked with mirth. “And here I find him with you, speaking of his wishes.”_

_Aramis held out a hand in an offer. Athos answered by taking the hand and softly kissing the inside of the wrist..._

Aramis bowed his head, letting the tears fall like rain.

***

Jean-Luc Mercier stared at the rings in the box. They were of exquisite craftsmanship and the highest quality of silver. If not for the man who brought them in the day before, the trader would have thought them made for royalty.

He sighed as he closed the box, returning it to the shelf under the counter. That Red Guard was an arrogant idiot so Jean-Luc felt no remorse at cheating the man, giving him far less than what the rings were worth. Still, he was sure that there was a ruined life out there because of the jewelry and that man.

These rings were a bad omen. He didn’t know of what but he could feel it in his bones that there was something…unnatural attached to these four silver bands with the strange etchings. Something foreboding was coming, of that he was certain.

So perhaps he shouldn’t have been so frightened to see the demon walk through his door mere hours later. In all honesty though, he knew very few who would not tremble in fear before this thing of darkness. Tall and lanky, he wore the form of a man but with a face painted like death. As he stalked towards him, Jean-Luc could not help flinching away from the black clad figure.

“P…Please…d…don’t hurt me!”

The man cocked his head to the side in a strangely bird like way. “Hurt you? I have no intention of hurting you. I only wish to retrieve what belongs to me.”

Jean-Luc shrank away from the man. “The…the rings?”

Immediately the other’s body went as taut as a bowstring and he knew this was the life which was ruined because of the Red Guard. A shaking hand reached out to take the box that held the cursed rings. They had to be cursed to bring such a fearsome monster to his shop. He set the box on the counter and backed away.

As he watched the man open the box, he felt his fear melt into pity and sorrow. Beneath the painted smile was an expression so full of pain and loneliness, Jean-Luc felt his heart break. Slipping the rings all on his index finger, the man spoke four names as if reciting a prayer.

“Athos…Porthos…Aramis…d’Artagnan…”

Jean-Luc glanced at the finger, gasping in amazement. Separate, they appeared to be nothing but silver bands with odd etchings. Together, they formed the fleur-de-lis, the insignia of the musketeer regiment.

“You…you were one of those Musketeers, weren’t you?” At the slight inclinations of the head in conformation, Jean-Luc bit his lip. “I thought you were all killed?”

At that, the painted smile turned into a somewhat real smile, though it might be argued that it was more of a bearing of teeth than a real grin. “The permanence of death is sometimes greatly exaggerated.”

Jean-Luc took a step back, hearing the pain of separation beneath the slightly insane sarcasm. “Loss is something I understand. My wife…just last month…” He choked, not being able to continue, the memory of her death still too raw of a wound.

“You have my sympathies.” He turned and started to walk away, but paused at the door. Turning his head, he softly spoke, forcing Jean-Luc to strain to hear him.

“All you who mourn past happiness now flown,

And live through long and weary days of woe,

Your sorrows all a certain end shall know.

When tears are offered to your God alone,

By you who mourn below.”

As he returned to his previous path out of the shop, a large, black bird landed on his shoulder. Together, they vanished into the pouring rain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the poem Aramis recites from "The Three Musketeers". (p.265 in my copy)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Musketeers  
> Warnings: Read them (Even the ones in bold, please)(Especially the ones in bold, please.)  
> Follow Me (My Personal Blog): [Tumblr](http://sabishiioni.tumblr.com/)  
> Follow PI (My Writing Blog): [Tumblr](http://projectinsanitywriting.tumblr.com/)  
> Mindless Babble: Last chapter of probably the last Musketeer fic I will write and post. This was a fun ride and I thank you all for coming with me on it!

Pierre sat at the table sharing the bottle of expensive red wine with the only man he could even remotely call a buddy. Fredrick had been by his side during the raid of the musketeer home. Together, they had enjoyed teaching the gutter born trash to respect their position as Red Guards. Cleaning the blood from their whips had been a nightmare but the memories of how it got there made him smile.

Fredrick lifted his cup in salute. “I heard they buried three of them yesterday morning.”

“Yeah, that stupid boy apparently doesn’t have enough sense to die.” Pierre snorted as he tipped his glass to the other Red Guard. “Can’t be feeling too good though. “

“Ha! Probably not…” Fredrick shook his head, before downing his wine. “Still can’t believe Marc did that to him.”

“Hm. Didn’t think we had someone that messed up in the head.” He smirked as he refilled both cups. “Was a bit of a turn on though. Had to go find a wench afterwards.”

“Me too,” Fredrick snickered.

“Those poor women, if indeed they were women…”

Both guards shot up, gripping their swords at the unknown voice. For a brief moment, they saw the tall, slender form wrapped in black with the skull like face before a sound like wings extinguished all the candles save for the one on the table. Frozen in a sudden fear, the two men could only listen as the shadows spoke.

“Tell me, did it give you pleasure to whip a man to death? Did you enjoy seeing the blood fly? Were his scream music to your ears?”

“Yeah, it was! A stray dog should die like a stray dog!” Pierre lunged blindly and was gratified by feeling his rapier hit something solid. He grinned in triumph.

“Ow.” The creature stepped forward, further impaling himself on the sword. The black smile widened as Pierre screamed, letting go of his weapon. He stumbled into Fredrick, who dropped his blade in terror.

“What the Hell are you?!”

The thing rolled his head once before pulling the steel from where it pierced his shoulder. Ignoring the pair of shocked gasps as the hole closed on its own, he brought the sword to his lips and let his tongue drag through the blood. The blade fell to the floor with a clatter as another pair of razor sharp weapons were drawn.

“I know Porthos would love to have his weapon used for his vengeance, but a bullet in the gut is to gentle for you.” 

Two sets of eyes widened as the light from the candle lit up features of one who died; buried the morning before. Pierre shook his head, denying what was right in front of him while Fredrick whimpered like a dog behind him. The sound seemed to delight the dead man.

“Stray dogs do run in packs, don’t they?” he mocked.

“You’re dead!”

“So I have been told. At least once by your captain before he found that it was too much trouble to breath.” The Crow grinned wider as he advanced on the pair. “And yet, here I am, the one who still goes through the trouble of breathing.”

“Th-…the captain is dead…?”

Deep brown eyes glinted in the light of the small flame. “Have no fear- you both shall being joining him in his new regiment. Very soon, in fact.”

One moment, the pair was standing; in the next, they were on the floor, staring at where their feet were resting several inches from them. The Crow stared down at them, his expression never changing, as blood dripped from the pair of swords he held. A huge bird slipped from the shadows and came to rest on leather clad shoulder.

“There was one more. The one that hurt d’Artagnan. Where is he?”

Pierre dragged his eyes from where he stared in confusion at his severed feet, still in his boots. “He…he’s probably with…him…”

Brown eyes narrowed as the lean body tensed. “Richelieu.”

“Marc is…is favored by the Cardinal...”

The Crow dipped his head once. He turned to leave, his hand casually knocking over the both the wine and the candle. Without a glance backwards, he left the burning building, the screams from the men inside music to his ears.

***

Pausing before the central doors, Aramis took a moment to appreciate the grand church. It had been some time since he last came here, preferring the smaller places of worship for his own conversations with the god he once believed in. Still, Notre Dame was magnificent he took a moment to indulge himself.

_time is wasting, Aramis_

The man looked at the bird on his shoulder. He was tired and sick of all the blood he spilled to quench his thirst for vengeance. It was still yet to be satiated, but after tonight…then maybe he could rest. He raised a hand to stroke the wet feathers of the birds head.

“Will I be allowed to see them again? Just once more?”

_they are waiting for you on the other side of the doors_

Aramis sighed, taking off his hat and throwing it to the side. It was time to end this. He slowly opened the doors, smiling as he remembered that this entrance was called the Portal of Last Judgment. 

They stood in the aisle leading to the altar at the back of the church. The two men he hunted stood in front of the elevated dais. They both paled at the sight of him.

“Abomination! How dare you come in here with the blood of my men still on your hands?!”

Aramis smirked. “I could say the same of you, Richelieu, except with the blood of my brothers.”

The fear melted into ugly hatred. “You mean those men you shared your bed with?”

“The men I shared my heart with,” Aramis replied as he pulled both blades from their sheaths. “Perhaps you need a reminder of what love is, Cardinal…”

He took a step towards the armed to the teeth Red Guards. _“Love is patient and kind…”_

Slashing across the throat of one man, he stabbed the second in the heart. _“Love is not jealous or boastful…”_

He twirled, opening a pair of stomachs. _“It is not arrogant or rude…”_

Dropping to his knees, he slammed his blades up, impaling bodies that dripped blood onto his shoulders. _"Love does not insist on its own way…”_

Pulling them out, he stood, twisting in a way that slashed four chests enough so they would bleed out in minutes. _“It is not irritable or resentful…”_

The crow that had flown in after Aramis, dove, pecking out the eyes of a dishonorable guard as Aramis took out another pair. _“It does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right… ”_

He advanced, killing another man who tried to charge him. _“Love bears all things…”_

His blades drew even more blood as he dispatched another duo. _“Believes all things…”_

He rolled the hilt in his hands, stabbing backwards, dealing death to the two men who attempted to attack him from behind. _“Hopes all things…”_

Another stomach opened as he crossed his wrist before spreading his arms, crimson flying from the once silver blades. _“Endures all things…”_

He knelt in front of the only men still standing raising his head to grin at them. _“Love never ends.”_

“Go, your Eminence. I will take care of this monster.”

“Like you took care of my sweet lover?” Aramis spat out, as he stood, his eyes flickering after the retreating cardinal before focusing on the towering man in front of him. He knew his feathered companion would follow the fleeing man. “One who hunts monsters should be mindful not to become one themselves.”

“That’s rich coming from a dead musketeer who paints his face like a drunken whore!”

“Oh, that stings,” Aramis replied, a memory flitting through his mind.

He raised a blade in a salute before pressing his attack. While it was true that he was better with his musket, he was no amateur when it came to the sword. Playing with the guard, Aramis allowed the man to think he was winning until he spun around Marc, slamming the guard of Athos’ rapier into the back of the man’s skull, sending him into blackness.

***

Cardinal Richelieu hurried up the stairs to the bell tower, hoping to escape the once dead creature. Perhaps being closer to god would help as well. He smiled, already feeling safer with just that thought.

Then the screams reached him. 

An involuntary shudder of fear ran up his spine as the music of the damned reached the highest point of the bell tower. He ducked into a darken corner, thinking to escape the sight of the vengeful musketeer. His hopes were dashed with the cries of crow, perched on the headstock of one of the bells.

Glaring at the bird, he stood. If he was to face the sins of his past, then he would face them head on. He drew his blade and moved to meet the thing that would eventually come up the stairs. He knew it would be soon as the screams had finally stopped. 

Richelieu watched as the creature’s winged companion flew away, surly to meet up with its' chosen weapon. The Crow came up the stairs, heavy boots treading as if in a funeral procession. The painted smile only served to enhance the maniacal grin. Amber eyes glinted with malice as the bird landed on his shoulder.

“ _’Where there is love, there is life.’_ ” The Crow’s grin turned feral. “You took my love from me. Now all that remains is what I have become.”

Despite his conviction, Richelieu took a step back as what was once Aramis of the musketeers raised and crossed his bloody blades, in a parody of a salute, the living shadow on his shoulder taking flight. Still, he managed to raise his own sword in a return gesture, before falling into a fighting stance. He would not allow this abomination to control his heart through fear.

The blows started to rain down on the Cardinal, but to his credit he deflected most of them. The Crow stepped back, bowing his head slightly in respect to the man’s apparent skill. Richelieu smirked, believing that he truly had the upper hand. 

“Your man, Marc, believed he had bested me as well.”

The older man paled slightly at the evenly spoken words. “And do I dare ask what you did to him?”

Teeth were bared as the Crow grinned. “He paid for his sins as Jesus paid for ours.”

“I doubt the sins you carry could be forgiven by our Lord,” Richelieu sneered.

“Maybe not by your God.” He tilted his head in an uncanny birdlike way. “God created all of us, we are all God's children... but God's a bit of a bastard. He created me.”

“Then let us see whose god is greater!” With that, Richelieu lunged, thrusting his blade through the heart of the dead man.

Aramis stumbled backwards, taking the sword with him. Blood bubbled past his painted lips as he stared in shock at the metal protruding from his chest. The Cardinal laughed. 

“It seems mine is the greater god!”

“Per…perhaps…” Aramis gasped, raising his eyes to meet Richelieu’s. “But you forget…I did not come here alone…”

He had only time enough to gasp in terror before the crow’s wings became the last thing he ever saw. He heard the cawing as talons tore his eyes from their sockets. He staggered, the pain driving him to his instincts to get away. He fell to his knees as the crow flew into the rafters to enjoy his prize. 

The heavy foot falls coming towards him caused the Cardinal to scramble blindly backwards. His panic rose as his back hit a wall. He heard the sickening sound of a sword being pulled from a body followed quickly by the clattering as the weapon was dropped.

“Cardinal. You do not understand what you have done, how your actions helped to create me.” 

Something heavy fell in front of him and he could feel the blood of the other soaking his clothes. Somewhere, in the very recesses of his mind, he was surprised by how warm it was. Hot breath caresses his face as Aramis leaned in to whisper to him.

“Allow me to give you my final gift…”

Hands clasped his head and the First Minister of France recoiled as the agony tore through his body. All the pain and suffering the youngest musketeer had gone through, the horror Aramis felt watching his lovers tortured and killed- all of it compressed into just a few moments that felt like an eternity.

He had only a moment to realize that he was falling before his neck snapped and he met his own creator.

***

Captain Treville marched into Notre Dame with several of his best musketeers behind him. The ringing of the bells had woken Paris to the first morning of sun. He knew then that the nightmare was over for his four sons, even before the nun approached him to inform him of d’Artagnan’s death. His heart was just a bit lighter as he led his men to the cathedral. Even the sight of the torn open Red Guard crucified on the upside down cross did nothing to dampen his spirits. 

“Captain! I think I found why the bells were ringing!”

Treville followed the seasoned musketeer up the stairs to the bell tower. When the man pointed, he turned his head, so he missed his captain’s grim smile of satisfaction at the sight of the hung Cardinal. Soon the streets would be filled with the wails of the mourning.

“He is dead.”

***

Aramis gently laid the flowers on the other two graves, kneeling between them. He glanced at his own, seeing the empty pit and wondering if that would be all there was waiting for him. He wanted to cry, but the tears would not come.

“I wish I could have seen you one last time, to at least say good-bye…”

“You should say hello first.”

Aramis spun around on his knees to see d’Artagnan standing there, with that shy boyish expression he had fallen in love with. The younger man stepped forward, holding out his hand. Behind him, a pair of familiar silhouettes stood with four horses behind what appeared to be a white French doorway.

“Come on, Aramis. There are more adventures waiting for us.”

“But…for what I did…How can I be given mercy…?”

D’Artagnan knelt in front of the distraught man, taking his hands into his own. “The sins you committed are no longer your own. Why do you think the Crow is the color he is?”

Aramis blinked as understanding came to him. “I…I can go with you?”

“You remember when you said ‘mine’ and I said, ‘forever’? You said ‘only forever?’” The younger man leaned in to capture the no longer painted lips. “It’s forever, now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) After doing a search for the "Love is..." passage, I found over twenty variations for it. I looked in both of my Bibles and even they couldn't agree. So I took the one I liked best and used it.  
> 2) "Where there is Love..." is a quote from Mahatma Gandhi.  
> 3) "Remember when you said mine..." Is quoted from The Crow graphic novel.  
> 4) Yes, I quoted Being Human. I saw the chance and I have about the same will power as my cat when it comes to Cheezies. (None.)


End file.
